December 15, 2006

12.15.06

David: ...A Boarding Party!

“Men!” shouted Cap’n Blackjack Barbarossa. “We’ve got her sighted on the horizon!” The pirates cheered. “That fat Spanish galleon be ours for the takin’! By nightfall, we’ll all be as rich as kings, or Davy Jones take us!” The crew cheered again. “Now get to work!” he ordered, and the men rushed about to make ready for battle.

They were in gun range by mid-afternoon. Cannons flared, and a lucky hit took down the Spaniards’ mainmast. The pirates swept their deck with grapeshot, decimating the crew. Grappling lines were thrown, and the buccaneers swarmed aboard, cutlasses swinging and pistols flashing.

Jeff R.:Leave Your Body At The Door

The tradition dates back to the fifth year of the great die-back, after the new plagues had run their course and the old ones had begun their comeback. When the winter freezes began and the foot of water- too shallow to float, too deep and diseased to drive or wade- that covered the old streets suddenly turned from a million moats to great skating maze, the few thousand people left squatting in the abandoned towers of New York travel, from dwelling to dwelling.

By day they gather the dead. By night they burn them on great pyres. And they party.